


a pinprick of light

by Crollalanza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, banquet shenanigans, victuuri beginnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10278077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: 'It’s as if all the flamboyance and fun has been used up on the ice. And now we become the grey people,' Victor had warned Mila before her first Grand Prix banquet.He'd not exaggerated, and the only social skills Mila was learning was how to stifle yawns before she could make a getaway.Then Katsuki Yuuri drank a vat of champagne, and colour exploded into all their lives.But it's up to Mila and Sara to salvage his reputation when the events of the banquet threaten to go viral.





	

'Learning proper social skills and etiquette is important for skaters.' - Mila had been told. That and she might be able to have a glass of champagne as long as she behaved. She fiddled at the strap of her dress, making sure it wasn’t twisted and hoped she passed muster. Madame Baranovskaya, chaperoning in Sochi, had already pursed her lips over her ensemble, her eye twitching at the décolletage and short skirt, and had been in the middle of ordering her to change when Victor had sauntered into the lobby.

“It’s far less revealing than anything we wear on the ice,” he drawled, then giving Mila a wink, he hooked his arm into hers. “Ready for your first banquet?”

She nodded, then out of earshot whispered, “I’m a bit nervous. Are you sure this dress is okay? ”

“You look lovely,” he replied, not really looking, then leant closer to whisper, “There’s no need to be nervous, these events are incredibly dull, and no one’s going to mind if you skip out early. Do what I do, show your face, smile and make yourself agreeable to the officials, chat to the other skaters, then slip out as soon as you can.”

“Which will be when?”

“I never stay past eleven. We have an advantage, Mila, because we’re athletes so everyone believes we’re always in training.”

The words were spoken so lightly, and with an air of insouciance, that Mila felt her shoulders (the bare shoulders that had been another bone of contention from Madame) drop, the tension leaving them in a trice.

“So nothing much actually happens then?”

He huffed out a breath. “Nothing at all. It’s as if all the flamboyance and fun has been used up on the ice. And now we become the grey people.”

 

Several flashes, bright and white, greeted them as they walked, Victor slowed his pace and Mila watched as he turned his megawatt smile on the assembled photographers, posed for another picture, and answered a question about his future with a wink and a wave but no actual words, before guiding her into the banquet hall. She looked back over her shoulder, saw the crowd already starting to thin and knew for the reporters, their story was done. Victor Nikiforov had arrived, the doors would soon be closed and there was nothing more to report.

Half an hour later, her mouth aching from smiling politely at Important Personages, her feet hurting from the shoes which pinched at her toes, and Mila was already stifling yawns. Over in the far corner, Sara Crispino, clad in blue silk, was leaning against a wall. Mila had talked to her once or twice, inconsequential words as they headed on and off the ice. Four years Mila’s senior, there was nothing to suggest they’d ever be more than rivals, not least because Mila had looked up to her all through her junior years.  Now she looked not bored but a little petulant, her mouth closed as she listened (and listened and listened) to whatever her brother was saying. Then Sara glanced across, caught Mila’s eye and smiled before smoothing the mask back in place when Mickey noticed and began to question her. Mila wilted, sensing a lost ally, and attempted to look interested in whatever the Important Personage was expounding on. Nearby Victor was making small talk, laughing lightly and lavishing praise on not only his peers, but the next Russian protégée. Not that Yuri Plisetsky was in the slightest grateful. Forced into a suit and tie, he grumped his way through every attempt at conversation, even pretending he spoke no English, and scowling deeper when Jean-Jacques Leroy’s laugh filled the room.

 _Yuri’s almost as bored as me,_ Mila thought, and eased out a slip of a sigh, pondering whether to talk to Christophe, who could at least be relied upon for gross flattery and his penchant for gossip.

At ten, she wondered if she could sneak another glass of champagne.  The waitress walked past, but Yakov was right at her side, so Mila inched away and towards a dresser along the wall, where a row of champagne flutes were set, flutes that had all been full when she’d arrived.  She hesitated, unsure if this was where the waiting staff replenished their trays. Then seeing a vaguely familiar bespectacled man pick up a glass and gulp, she helped herself  and started to sip, liking the way the bubbles prickled her tongue.

One more hour and then she could leave.  Victor had not been exaggerating, the celebratory banquet was duller than the dullest ditchwater, and the only social skills she was acquiring were ones of stifling yawns.

_It’s all fire and passion and colour and life on the ice, but here we’re grey, so very grey._

She ached to leave, was already planning an early escape, feigning illness or -

Then the bespectacled man drank a vat of champagne.

And colour exploded in their lives.

 

Phones were out. The token souvenir photos now being flooded by as many shots as possible of semi-naked men gyrating around a pole, of unaccountable break-dancing skill, of the Russian Fairy creating a complicated mass of steps and still not able to keep up, and finally of Victor, poise gone and living through dance as he twirled with more fire than Mila had ever seen – even in competition.

“This is going to go viral,” Sara Crispino cried, and laughing she pulled on Mila’s wrist to dance. “The world will know.”

“Know what?” Mila yelled back, caught up in a spin.

“That skating’s fun. That we’re daring and passionate off the ice too and ... WOW! Look at Katsuki!”

A hand covered her eyes. “SARA! Don’t look!” Mickey ordered.

But she wrenched away, exasperated with him.  “Go away, Mickey. I’m having fun for once.”

“This is outrageous. They can’t behave like this. Not in this company. I hope the ISU expels them!”

“Expels?”  Mila blinked and stopped dancing. “Could they?”

“Mickey!” Sara grabbed his arm, shock reverberating across her face. “Would you really want that?”

He chewed his lip, looking shamefaced at his outburst, mellowing at her question. “Well, no, but ... this is an official event. We are supposed to behave and uphold the code. Maybe they’ll only censure Katsuki. He is the ringleader after all. And not a _name_.”

“Oh.”  Mila gazed at Yuuri, his spectacles askew as he draped over Victor, his eyes wide and imploring. And Victor who over the years had got very used to supplicating fans begging him for favours looked uncharacteristically flustered. There was a glimmer of confusion, mixed with excitement in his eyes, an expression she wasn’t sure she’d seen from him before, not even when he was figuring out a new routine. “That’s not very fair,” she protested.

“Agreed!” Sara stood straight, hands on hips, the smile wiped from her lips as she scrutinised the occupants of the room. “We have to do something.”

“Huh?”

“What goes on here, stays here, alright?” she said firmly, and squeezed Mickey’s hand. “Make sure Emil knows that.”

Mickey frowned as he deliberated. It was as if he was trying to work out a particularly difficult sum without a calculator, and maybe he was. The world knew Mickey Crispino was fiercely protective of his twin. They also knew the fewer men there were in her orbit, the happier Mickey would be. But all the same he was scrupulously fair, and he adored his sister, refusing her very little.

“I’ll talk to him,” he muttered sulkily.

“Give him a hug and he’ll agree to anything,” Sara said, laughing briefly before returning to the important business. “Now for the others. Who else is taking pictures, Mila?”

“Christophe, Victor and ... um ... well I did,” Mila replied. “Oh, and I took some on Yuri’s phone.” She groaned. “He’s addicted to social media. He’ll share as soon as he gets an internet connection.”

“As will Chris. He’s such an attention junkie,” Sara murmured and tilted her head to one side. “But ... it has to be the right sort of attention ...”

Celestino had moved in, prying Katsuki off Victor, rolling his eyes, and declaring he’d make sure Yuuri got to bed. And Mila watched as Victor let his hand slip, stretching out and tilting his fingers up in an approximation of a goodbye. Then he tripped forward, saying he’d help, and caught the almost comatose Katsuki before he fell to the floor. Christophe was laughing, his shirt in one hand and phone in the other.

Sara lunged, a fixed smile on her face, hair flying behind her and grasped Christophe from behind.

“SARA!” Mickey cried, but Mila held him back.

“It’s a ruse,” she hissed. “Go and sort Emil out.”

She crept closer, wondering what Sara would actually do, but all the while her eyes flickered around the room searching for her charge, for she knew that Yuri was her target, the boy unlikely to listen to anyone else’s pleas.

“Nice pictures, Chris,” Sara cooed, and ran her hand along his bicep, reaching across to snatch his phone. “Oh, look. So cool all that pole-dancing. You’re very fit, aren’t you?”

Christophe smirked, then flashed her a wink. “Skating is physical. You must know that, Sara.”

“Yes,” she said and sighed a little dreamily. “Yuuri is _so_ toned. And look at the way he’s holding you. I’d never have thought he’d be the stronger one.”

“Huh?”

“Well, look ...” she laughed, a lilting musical laugh, with enough of an edge to snap at Christophe’s sensitivities. “He’s carrying you on that pole. So hot! Must be the sexiest male skater in the world.”

_Oh, nicely done!_

Christophe’s jaw dropped open and his eyes appeared to slope downwards. “The sexiest? Really?”

Sara drew the phone closer to her, touching with her fingertip with utmost reverence. “Look at the ass on that, Chris. Wow, he’s gonna be so popular when this gets out, don’t you think, Mila?”

Mila pounced and picked up the cue. “Wonder what his fangirls will call themselves? Katsuki Kittens? Queens? Hope it’s not something crass like Sushi Girls!”

“Fangirls?” Christophe muttered. He blinked a few times, then started to put his shirt back on, slowly buttoning it up. “Might ... um ... be embarrassing for him. Perhaps, I should keep these to myself as not everyone’s up to the rigours of having so many fans.”

“True,” Sara said, then smiled brightly. “There’s a handsome man walking over with your trousers, Chris. Is he a friend of yours?”

Chris’s expression changed from credulous to sudden interest. “I’ve never seen him before in my life,” he confided, “but I think we’re about to get acquainted.”

He was fluttering his eyelashes before the stranger reached him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Bon chance, Sara. Bonsoir, Mila. Until the next competition, I must bid you a fond au revoir.”

“That’s Giacometti sorted,” Sara muttered, watching him leave. “Now, where’s the princeling?”

Yuri was in the corner, Yakov tightening his tie as he admonished him. “Foolish behaviour!” he scolded. “Not what the officials want to see from a rising talent.”

“What do I care what they think!” Yuri said, eyes flashing defiantly. He pulled his brows together. “Anyway it was Katsuki’s fault. That loser challenged me, and then Victor said I couldn’t turn him down.”  His scowl deepened. “You should be yelling at him. Everyone will agree with me!”

“He’s gonna share,” Sara whispered and clutched Mila’s hand. “I don’t know him. What’ll work?”

 _‘Loser’_ ... Mila’s mind flashed back to the conversation she’d overheard after the competition. Not that she’d meant to eavesdrop, but walking past the male toilets, she’d heard yells and ... well ... who wouldn’t want to know what was going on?

“I’m on it,” Mila murmured.

She hurtled forwards, barging past Yakov and threw her arms around Yuri. “Aww, so close, Yurochka!”

“Huh? What the fuck are you on about, Baba?” he snarled.

“You looked great up there,” she continued, widening her eyes. “Such a shame.”

“What’s a shame? I don’t care about the stuffy officials. What can they do when I was shoved into that dance-off. It’s Victor’s –”

“I mean,” Mila interrupted as she took his phone. She sighed and scrolled through. “You did _so_ well, but Katsuki beat you. Wow, he’s amazing.  Guess you lost that one.”

“Me! Lose?”

“I’m sure he did his best, Mila,” Sara said _very_ kindly. “But in the battle of the two Yuris, Yuuri K just has that edge over Yuri P.”

“WHAT!”

Mila could have sworn steam was coming out of Yuri’s ears and his cheeks were a furious puce.

“You’ll improve,” Mila replied, airily handing the phone back.

“HE’S _BETTER?_ ” Yuri’s eyes goggled, and his finger flicked faster than he’d ever flown across the ice through all the pictures. Then his jaw dropped open. “He _is_ better,” he whispered, his jaw dropping open.

“Our work here is done,” Sara muttered. Then she giggled. “Well done.”

But Mila was fretful. Something nagged at her. It wasn’t Victor’s photos. She knew he’d rapidly see how discretion was necessary, but there was someone else. Someone they hadn’t accounted for. She remembered another phone and more flashes.

And as if she’d read her mind, Sara’s fingers bit into Mila’s shoulder. “Jean-Jacques Leroy!”

“We forgot about him.”

“He’ll think it’s a laugh.”

“J-J will post.” Mila gnawed at her cheek. “He’s reckless.”

“No thought to consequences.” Sara’s face jerked up as she searched the room. “Where is he?”

A door was swinging open, someone had left and acting on instinct, Mila sprinted out into the hall. Her instinct was good, J-J stood there laughing at his phone, his smile wide, eyebrows cocked, and then a slight frown.

“J-J!” Mila cried.

“Hmm?”  He looked up, gave an automatic sort of grin and then blinked. “Oh, you’re one of the Russian ladies, aren’t you?  Do you want a photograph with me?”

“Um ... no, not exactly,” Mila began. “It is about ... uh ... pictures though.” She swallowed, unsure how to tackle this one. J-J wasn’t known to her, but for all his bravado, maybe this time only the truth would work.  “We ... uh ... don’t want anyone to get into trouble, so ... um ... it was a bit of fun, right?  No need to take it any further.”

“Hmm?” he repeated, infuriating now to Mila’s ears. She ached to snatch his phone and skewer it with her stiletto. _How do I get him to listen?_

“Not fair on Katsuki,” she gasped. “And you’d like to compete against him next year, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” He still looked confused. “I want to compete against everyone. Next year, I’ll win you know.”

“So ... those photos,” she said, trying to fix him with a steely gaze. “You won’t upload them.”

He stared back at her, confusion flushing his cheeks. “Why not? They’re excellent photos. And at the banquet, too. I think my fans would want –”

“To see pictures only of you!” Sara cried, lurching towards them. “J-J, your fans aren’t interested in anyone else, are they?  Why taint your Instagram with other skaters?”

“Huh?” J-J cast them both a quizzical look, arching one eyebrow. “I really don’t know what you’re on about, but while you’re here ...” He handed over the phone.

Mila grabbed it. At least this way they could delete anything incriminating. J-J would complain, maybe the amiable mask would slip, but Katsuki’s reputation would be safe. Yet as she scrolled through, she started to smile. Beside her Sara chuckled, for the squares in front of them, the rows and rows of banquet pictures, were not of Yuuri half- naked and wrapped round a pole, or of Victor high kicking, or Yuri break-dancing, his tie askew. There wasn’t even one of Christophe groping his own butt. Instead, J-J had occupied himself with selfies.

“You took none of the dancing?” Sara said, her lips twitching.

“Why would I? They weren’t skating, just letting off steam!”

Mila gurgled out a laugh. “Steam ... yeah, I guess so.”

“When you’re ready, ladies,” J-J continued, a tad impatiently. 

“Oh, right.” Mila focused the camera, waiting for J-J to pose.

“What do you think of this?” he demanded as he manoeuvred his hands in front of his chest, and positioning his thumb and finger into an approximation of letters. “Does it look like my initials?”

“Yeah, really cool!” Sara said, and Mila could hear she was biting back a laugh.

“It’s very stylish!” Mila agreed.

 He smiled wider, then just as she pressed the button, yelled, “IT’S JJ STYLE!”

 

“Oh god, what have we started,” Sara whispered after taking another twenty pictures until J-J pronounced himself satisfied.

They crept away, leaving J-J about to update his profile. As Sara laughed, her arm brushed against Mila, and she could sense her horizons widening as she greeted this newly forged friendship, based on more than being rival ice queens.

“We’ve done a very good thing tonight,” Sara said, and steered Mila towards a waiter carrying a tray of champagne. “And we need to bask in this glow so how about we treat ourselves to one more glass of champagne?”

Mila accepted. “To teamwork,” she said, feeling a little shy as she chinked her flute against Sara’s glass.

“To saving reputations,” Sara intoned, “and distracting my brother so I managed to enjoy myself.”  She grinned. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along fine, so here’s to you, Mila Babicheva - my co-conspirator - and here’s to friendship!”

***

 

Victor was sitting on the steps outside when Mila finally left the banquet. Bundled up in a coat and scarf, proof against the Sochi snow, he had a small smile on his lips, softer than Mila had ever seen.

“I thought you said nothing exciting ever happened at these events,” she said.

He gestured for her to sit down, holding out his arm to drape around her shoulders. “Katsuki Yuuri has never attended one before.”

“He changed it, yeah?”

He exhaled, and drew Mila closer. “I think he’s changed everything, Mila. Everything in the world.”

She thought of Sara dancing with joie de vivre, of sharing champagne with her, of Christophe who’d disappeared with the handsome man shortly after, of Mickey for once trusting his sister and letting her move away, of J-J posing for the camera.  She thought of Yuri recognising the possibility of loss. And finally of Victor, his eyes dreamy, a non-brittle smile on his face, high kicking for fun and not medals.

Mila snuggled closer, resting her cheek on Victor’s shoulder. “I hope we see him again, then. Someone that full of life mustn’t hide away.”

“How did you get so wise, little one?” Victor drawled, but he flipped her nose with his finger, then pressed his lips to her hand. “You look very beautiful tonight, Mila.”

 “So do you.” She smiled at him, meeting his eyes, eyes that sparkled brighter than the Sochi sea in summer. “And happy. Not seen that for a while, Victor.”

He sighed. “It’s like a pinprick of light through the grey, but yes, I think I’m happy.”


End file.
